Serpent's Apparatus
by AsphyxiatedAngel
Summary: Everything is bathed in light.Yet the era serves to only thicken the shadows,as what lives in the dark thrives,and desires.Hassansins;exiled,fabled,and lethal in their disuse.With knowledge,they become the advesaries of who they used to serve.update 12/27
1. Phoenix Sunset

The surface prospered. Milking the life of the earth for all that it could provide to people. The marriage to bind the shining holy city with the immense Persian Empire had driven the people into this frenzy fueled by the popular matrimony and the wine now being shared between the two diverse peoples. Those closest to the light thrived, their hands reaching to the sun in an unnamed dance; appropriate given the circumstances and the fruit season approaching around the corner. The uproar was beautiful; but the shadow it cast was ugly as the sin that ran rampant underneath the public eye.

The justification for the death of Nizam weighed heavily on the ancient king, Dastan, His son was out amongst the holy city. Normally, Sharaman would have assumed this meant heavy drinking and gallivanting about with glorious irresponsibility. However, something had deeply sobered the mind of the third prince. His large eyes were deeper, incredibly wiser within the course of half a minute. No one knew what had come over him, though Sharaman had his suspicions. No one gained information that shattered the entire morality of their Vizer, the king's brother, without the assistance of the god's above. The maturity Dastan gained was on a biblical scale that the king's successor, Tus, couldn't help but reciprocate. Upon signing off the exotic beauty, Tamina, to his youngest brother for a wife was a mark of a man of higher caliber, one that did not go unnoticed by the old man. Perhaps he'd misjudged the prince, and it might not be too soon for such a stature to take the throne. A smile placed itself on weathered lips. A broad hand reached to the sturdy chin that supported emperor's aquiline visage, stroking the tones of the silver colored beard. The haunting thought of his adopted sun impaling his brother. Fallen from grace as Nizam was, the fact was, his kin had killed another member of his blood. The sun had set the world on fire, as it dipped over in the horizon, and soon, he found himself faded out in darkness. It was time for the next movement in this concerto.

I'm not a master of Prince of Persia, so I'd love to know what you think! This was a short blurb to a great future story of deceit, manipulation, and empires. This part was done in the view of the elderly king, but not for long! Read and review, everything is appreciated, but constructive criticism only, if you please. This story is going to go headfirst into the **Hassansins **especially the Leader.


	2. Wolf's Moon Rising

Wrenched from the dark pool that provided the prophecies they all revolved their existences around, the mighty warrior found himself thrust promptly to the floor, met with the surface crafted out of some indiscernible expensive stone. Over it was a thin layer of sand caused by the carless feet of fighters who lived in the midst of the endless desserts and dragged it in by their shoes. In the very forefront of his mind, the serpentine creature found himself questioning where he was, and why there was this rough texture of the tiny granules of sand pressing against his bare palms. Quickly gaining back his posture, as the blood gratefully traveled back to his skull, the icy hued optics finally revealed themselves. As awareness returned to his body, the still form began to shift. The nearly oppressive clothing the tall figure wore was impressive even without the minimal armor he would wear outside. As he stood, feet silent even against the eternally quiet stone, there was the distinct stature about him that could mistake him as nothing less than a predator. As if to argue the point of danger there was a hiss as one of the free moving snakes swayed up his leg, respectfully as a snake could move, and greeted the man as his master once reaching his face his tongue flickering.

Yet his attention didn't shift from the point on the familiar wall he stared at uncommon intensity given it was a stationary object, his mind was apparently elsewhere, eyes strangely focused. The attention, however, was not for anything in the physical world, the trances that showed all, the only thing the Hassansins had left in their midst, had showed something…intriguing. In fact, it had been strange since the Leader of the once prestigious, feared, and whispered group of warriors had gone under. Looking back now, he found that he could not place his finger as to why he'd felt the need to fall into a stupor in the first place. Some irresistible urge had forced him, and now, he was left with the most intriguing of circumstances.

Idly raising a hand to his shoulder he allowed the faithful student around his hand and disappear under the sleeve of the turbulent clothes adorning his body. And slowly a grin that was not so familiar to his pale features, formed on his face. In the dim lighting of the underground sanctuary the turn of his head revealed nearly wrecked skin of the left side of his face.

It was time to ready the Hassansin horses, and high time he went to see what prince-childe was be going to become his new employer.


	3. Desert Thunder

**Tamina's Point of View;**

As was Persian custom, they bound her hair in jewels that would please even the highest of kings. Even though, the one they needed to inspire the most was no future king, but a prince-third in line. The depth of her chocolate optics stared longingly at her own reflection. The familiarity of the Alamut markings about her face, speckling around the features and making them shine more than any Persian jewels. Despite the strangely amicable end to the battles, the thought of those warriors decimating her army was enough for bile to threaten it's way into her throat. They were not meant to be in her Holy City, and no matter how big his eyes may be, she had thorough suspicions about her soon to be husband. _Husband. _ The strong face in the mirror swallowed, and she saw as well as felt her throat move with the motion. Why did that cause such a thrill in her? Were these feelings the early stirs of love on their way or were they a warning? The rush of familiarity she'd felt upon seeing him wasn't any help. For she couldn't recall whether she'd known him for a dream, or if it had been a prophetic nightmare. The Jewel of her city, what she was sworn to protect even under the highest of prices, was now firmly in her grasp; in her very chambers. Unspeakably enough it had been removed on it's way to the temple, and yet here it was right back. Lifting open the lock to the look at the sweet shine of the curved blade comforted her in that it was still safe, and yet; her deep optics couldn't help but search for a different structure to the weapon. It was more like a boomerang than a knife.

The elderly Persian king was meant to make a statement; hopefully it would be enough of an apology to placate a city of people as stubborn as the princess that governed them. Tamina doubted it. And yet, the Alamutans would be forced to forgive the army for being misled, what was this city if not a city made for reconciliation. Tamina's breath drew in smoothly, her lips holding around the dredges of the intake with new purpose. Adorned back in more familiar traditional attire, she prepared to meet her future husband with tactics similar to that of a prized war horse knowing it was going into battle with a reckless rider atop it's back.

"Princess"

The honeyed voice greeted her the instant that she stepped out of her chambers and into the hallway of the cherished palace. Nothing had changed in the scenery here save for the Persian amongst her. Turning her warm toned eyes and forcing them into a chilled composed gaze, her voice was polite as she turned to him.

"Dastan"

Even with the polite tone, the man still offered the grimace of a grin at the woman who he currently looked down on. Despite having a head taller than her, he knew as well as she did that it was her who had the upper hand. This would truly be an interesting joining of people, provided that he kept these secrets from her much longer.

So ignoring the fact she'd blatantly used his name as a slight to his honor, instead of the more tributary title of 'Prince' he offered her his arm, which she feigned ignorance of.

"Would you please accompany me before the announcement today? I wish to visit the gardens of your city…I hear they are wonderful places for healthy conversation."

His eyes twinkled, and her breath caught. Though instead of responding to him with the swoon he was no doubt used to receiving from women, the woman's chin offered a royal look of disdain, bringing it up. Dastan was struck by the sense that she'd somehow grown at least two feet taller with that tiny motion she answered smoothly with perfectly placated words.

"Unfortunately, I believe the walk alone would make us late. And I think it would be improper for me to be tardy to such an event, Dastan. And I must pray…alone"

Again, the word Dastan fell off her lips. Despite it being it's name, the way she said it gave the young Prince a distinct sensation that she'd just called him Da-the drunken fool who penetrated my city who I will never forgive and never cease to make your life and marriage to me a living hell-stan. Properly shamed by the response, his heart felt the twist of a knife caused by her words. His eyes followed her back without any tone of lust as they might once have carried for the perfect desert flower. Only glorifying love followed her, and she would never know why. In this moment, he felt as if these feelings were bound to remain unrequited.

When, in reality, she'd walked away from him due to the inexplicable urge to kiss him which rose up in her being. Lips burning, and eyes stinging, she'd never felt such a strong reaction to any person; much less one she was supposed to distrust most of all. Her dainty feet, covered in the sacred markings of her people, led her to the tower of their own accord. From here, she could see the mass amounts of the Alamuts along with the Persian armies. From here, she could even find the distinction of the King. She'd known Dastan wouldn't follow her, he didn't want to miss this anymore than she had. And of course, he'd assumed she would not be watching over the prayer tower.

So why had he asked her to come away with him? His eyes burning like his mouth wanted to release one of those secrets held captives behind his orbs. Despite her reaction, Tamina almost instantly regretted it. With an elegant sigh, she allowed herself the slightest instance of resting the side of her honeyed visage against the cool stone window. The sound of a worldly gong resounding for some semblance of silence, as the king stood, the glint of his crown a penetrating gold even to the woman stories upon stories above him.

_Thank you for reading so far. The storyline's going to pick up rapidly from here. I am merley setting up all characters for their eventual meet in the middle. And yes; The Hassansins will make their appearance. Reviews do nothing but encourage me to write!_


	4. Sandstorm

"_There is no substitute for peace or for trust. I was misled. And because of this I most humbly stand before you as not a king, but as a man…one who has made the gravest mistakes in letting his impressionable sons take the decisions on their young shoulders. Even in the most thorough of empires we find that not all blood can be true. I require nothing from you, I can only ask for your forgiveness of the misdeeds our country has brought upon this city. I will ask you through this mouth, through the mouth of my children and probably through my children's children as well. These apologies will never cease, nor will my dedication to make things right; until every man and woman will find it in their heart to forgive me. The attack made upon these structures was justified on a lie…"_

The rise and fall of the King's voice over the din of the crowd soon all but silenced it entirely. There was no doubt to the genuine feeling in the apology, in the promises, and in the affection. It was appearing that perhaps, this King was truly honest in all that he went through. But appearances could be deceiving; she thought, the image of that dulled blade appearing in her mind's eye as an example. Even if every breath that fell from the elderly man's lips was nothing but flower scented deceit fed to her people, Tamina found it was easy to see the royal blood in this man.

Full lips pressed together as she listened, the woman stayed in her tower, unnoticed, and hundreds of feet above thousands of heads. Her thoughts fled and floated in the sky of their own accord, she'd hardly ever felt less attached to the people below her in her life. Most of her life was built on the alienating concept that one object fell over the importance of every person; any person. Constructing a person on that fact led to a completely strange upbringing. As a result, Tamina's skin may have had the appearance of a fire growing underneath, her eyes like melted chocolate, her lips red as if she'd been encouraging a fever; but not many people had gotten to see the soul that created such heat. People were kept at such a distance from this creature, that even the wildest of fires could be tamed with that kind of isolation from all that was green in life.

For now, she was young. And the fire still held under her skin, occasionally rising to an inferno when the situation calls for it; though Tamina was not young enough where she could not realize that her soul was bound to the dagger and the secrets of Alamut.

Something that Dastan seemed to know a great deal too much about.

Following the cue of her thoughts, her eyes followed to where she found the prince standing fondly at his father's side. There was a glow about him as well, though it appeared…Well, desperate. The kind of light that was surprised and therefore hysterical that it was even in existence. Dastan had the same look on his face that she had only seen in her mother's face. The connection was surprising in and of itself, but completely undeniable. The worn strain look that her woman of birth carried around on her face like a talisman came from protecting the dagger, and protecting life at all costs. That was the look Dastan had, the look of a man who'd worn the weight of the world on his shoulders. But why would a third prince look so incredibly frail given he'd nearly singlehandedly been the trump card for the conquering of an entire city? Was this really the Lion of Persia? He looked much more like the leader of the pack, and actually…

Her eyes trailed back to the king. Neither of them shared each other's blood, and still, there was a resemblance. Perhaps Dastan simply had the look of a Persian king. Her smile faded into a grimace; another strong Persian ruler was just what Persia screamed for…And everything the rest of the world's cultures were screaming against. And yet he was so charming, looked at her with such deep adoration she couldn't understand and therefore, could not trust.

Her eyes closed, for just a moment, allowing the waves of thought to wash over her like a sandstorm in her mind; rendering her sedentary. The only thing that penetrated the trance was the regal resonance of the man's voice, followed not with cheers or negativity, but silence. _Like a funeral. _

That notion was enough to peel back her lids, and they widened considerably from their previous position as they witnessed the graceful arc of the Persian King as he fell. Suddenly she felt her eyes dilate and focus to a painful degree; she saw the beads of sweat from the afternoon sun speckling the tanned brows of the sons that stood around the figure, she saw blank faces revert to shock, horror, then anger and defense. Everything stood in intense slow motion, the Princess could see the whip's extension, the blade not visible from this angle. In fact, the only angle that any eyes could now see the blade, they'd have to live inside Sharaman's neck, where the sharp end had embedded itself.

She saw how people's mouths opened impossibly wide, knowing that they must be emitting screeches to the tenth degree, but the sound hardly had time to catch her. Suddenly filled to the brim with déjà vu, her perfectly sculpted sandals flew across the floor along with her feet, then; stairs, stairs, stairs.

Stares.

By the time her time she ripped open the door, the crowds of people were all clamoring for a look, and her unimpressive height was suddenly inadequate enough to see what had been going about in the square's podium. The sound returned full force out amongst the denizens, people were shouting in surprise, shock, some cheering, some horrified. Mouths held open in stunned silence, mouths bugged open for no discernible words save for a shriek. It was the Princess's who was closed in determination, to get there, to make somehow make it to the king.

That fallen King.

The past King.


	5. Yet Spoken

"You will be released. There will be no more pain, and no more of the high that leaves your body tender and ringing. All you have to do is follow through; and you'll see the desert sun under the protection of the Persian Empire."

A gift. Though not the most orthodox of presents; instead of bows, she lay wrapped up in chains. Instead of buffing her til she shined they threatened her til she tried. Hooking her on series of narcotics, making any reality seem cold and harsh, they trained a body to play fetch, as would be their purpose. Jahandar watched the female form writhe he went over his oaths to keep his blood from boiling. He'd been instructed to not succumb to the weakness of the flesh, as everyone in this windowless palace had, the way she moved though… She had been the most beautiful slave that Nizam could offer when he first sought out the Hassansins. Though Zolm had accepted it as their leader, Jahandar had felt that he'd not quite understood the purpose. Instead of leading the strangely colored creature to his bed, as was his right being the head of their cult, the serpentine assassin had led her down into the dark. No doubt messing with her mind, no doubt making her go through hoops that was unheard of for a woman's body, but still; from what Jahandar could tell, there was no pleasure on either side of the man's half mangled face. The apathetic expression had never left his eyes. Chewing on a piece of leather to soothe the ache between his legs, the lower Hassansin could hardly claim that same strength. But how could he? Jahandar, was just a man, and that was a golden haired goddess writhing against her chains in a drug induced frenzy. And as a man, even with as much training as he could handle, this would never cease to boil some unseen fire beneath his skin…This realization was a pang to his consciousness since youth when he was adopted into this group of men, he'd done nothing but improve his skills for those who led him. Yet there was no amount of training to forsake his humanity and the intellect of a man, there was nothing to bring him to the level of their leader. Biting down on the leather between his stained teeth the man's body stayed tense, riding out his turn to keep guard over the creature that had now fallen forward onto herself, spilling words from her lips that he couldn't understand.

_Tus's Point of View:_

It had been unleashed from a dormant nest in the center of his heart. Upon a vicious awakening, the thing thrashed and clawed, suddenly desperate for the oxygen outside of his ribcage. Clawing through bone, flesh, and the delicate skins of his heartstring the thing finally pounded out of his chest with the thud his father's body made after it had been jerked forward and then released by the strange weapon and it's incision. Tus would not be surprised if he was not living this life as he thought he was, and instead laying face up with milked over eyes, the sand stirring his now brittle hair, and the open wound in his chest festering but quite unfelt. Yes, he could see it, practically feel it. But still the reality faced in front of him was dazing.

So instead, he carried the numbness all the way to the marketplace where his father had originally found Dastan. He'd come to this place multiple times with him, each visit blending in to the next. But when the king adopted the youngest of them, Tus couldn't help his surprise. It had seemed that his father had made the decision without him, almost as if on purpose. The thought was banished in his mind, the moment he met the younger boy. But Garsiv had taken a great deal more time getting used to him. The thought brought a slight shake to the newly appointed king's head. He currently felt nothing like the great emperor he'd been eager to be.

The epiphany led his weak legs to take a seat by the fountain. Here in Persia, people were just beginning to realize what had happened in Alamut. The political uproar under the assumption it was a sign of rebellion was clear. Tus didn't write that off, given it was the most likely assumption. However, the denizens here spoke of it like it had been a declaration of war. The weary stares they gave their new King were not out of fear, but the hardening as if they expected some great upheaval; after all, so few lands still resisted even if you broke all their barriers and armies.

The chatter surrounded the silent man. Sitting with his head between his hands, no doubt attempting to hold his mind in place so it would not run off without him. Bu a strangely distinct voice rang out. It might have been the accent, mixed with the proximity of it. But it was so strangely clear that it spoke to his missing heart; the sound reviving it's beat for just a moment. It had the prominent note of desperation but the undertone of strong indignation.

_Dastan's Point of View:_

"So you've found your way into my garden yet again, Prince Dastan"

The arrogance remained, as did in the inconspicuous front. However, the venom was absent. With a snort, the warrior raised his head form staring at his hands still clasped together on his knees.

"And you've managed to find me. .No surprise."

He made a move to stand, offering only the briefest of glances to the stunning creature clothed in white nearly from head to toe. She was absolutely ornate. The sun hitting select rays across her face that obviously didn't grace the normal citizens, no one could glow like that without the help of the gods. Everything here was shining like it had rubbed the entire city in softening oils with their own giant hands. Hands unfolded, he paid them a glance as well; dirtied, calloused. They were the hands of a fighter, someone who got drunk in the afternoon and ran around alleyways at night. Someone who took pride in his position as a man, but was never quite above that mortal realm. These weren't hands that belonged here. They belonged in Persia scraping for food…But his father, adopted father, had changed that. He'd given him everything. And now he was here. The death lingered over every aspect of his life, but it was the moment of death that haunted him. He'd fought those weapons in a land separated only by time. He'd fought them for the dagger that had brought him to the woman in front of him.

Currently, fate was making his head spin.

Perhaps it was the sorrow that haunted his features that had softened the princess, though one couldn't tell that just by looking at her. Ceasing his motion to stand, the creature delicately placed a hand on the brazen shoulder. Even the chastest of touches sent a thrill through him that she would never understand and he would never say.

"You have my sympathies…"

He raised his eyes in the briefest of motions, but wavered and soon brought them back to his hands. With the loss, he'd never wanted more than to be drunk and wandering the Persian streets alone. But here, he was with his fiancée, his love. Here, he found himself sober and in a strange land. In the silence, the words bubbled up like a stream from his mouth.

"I need to see my brother, I need to see Tus. I haven't spoken with either of them since we heard."

Tamina blinked, her almond eyes revealed a flicker of confusion, the place where her hand had lingered on his shoulder instantly grew cold from the absence of its presence.

"You can't do that."

Shifting to his feet, his eyes staying on her the whole time, she was all too aware of how much their heights differed.

"Tus is in Persia, he needed answers…And I hear that he has left it now for some unknown reason in the hopes of finding help for pursuing your father's assassin."

She'd thought that, perhaps, she could lessen the blunt statement of hers with an explanation. Instead, his face drew pale sucking his lips in his mouth. Deep sea eyes were suddenly a more chilling color, some shade you would find only in the northern mountains where the white snow fell from the sky. Her own had widened, her feet following up to raise her to her full height. For the first time in his presence, she represented the mere slip of a woman that she really was.

"My servant's don't lie unless they have been misled. But I am sure they only left you here to ensure that there was a strong political presence in Alamut…They think it was one of my people."

Finally, it seemed to click, for he didn't get more angry at these words. He simply looked deeply concerned, melancholy, and perhaps frightened. He visually shrank in her mind, even if just a few inches, it was enough to return the life in her voice.

"Do you think it was?"

He was silent, contemplating whilst looking over to her fountain for so long that she was sure he would not answer her. Just when the self righteous defense for the citizens in the golden city was boiling in her veins he started to shake his head.

"No…I know it wasn't."

Any adult will tell a child that truth will set things straight. That lying to cover another farce would do nothing but make a more twisted story turn for the worse. In practice the words ring golden, obvious even. Yet, when facing your future bride who has only enough trust for you to fill a thimble, and her dark almond eyes narrow even as you start your explanation; funny things happen to your head.

He'd started with Nizam. That was easiest, everyone had seen his Uncle die, they'd seen his accusation along with Tus's final blow. He'd watch her face flicker in strangely poor disguised alarm when his rationale led to the point of it all; the past. Tamina had a heart set in stone against the Persians, but it was her eyes that hardened like rocks at the mention of secrecy. The truth wore thin, his words running dry like the desert under this afternoon heat which was suddenly cracking perspiration from his forehead. Apparently, this was how it was going to be from now on. One another intimidating the opposite into silence.

"You are telling me, that you have led some monstrous creature here…In search of something that you yourself should not know about?"

He offered an attempt at an empty, and rather sheepish, smirk.

"Actually, if there's one then I'm sure others aren't far behind."

There was no stopping her, and he'd known it even before the words were out of his mouth. With the grace of a dancer, the priestess walked out of probably the most important conversation since the dagger had been found by Prince Dastan. And Dastan simply let her leave, foolishly assuming, he'd have time to tell her the truth. The wisdom he'd gained in time that hadn't ever come to pass had curbed his urge to plow into things; but this wasn't the time for patience. No. Not when the warning contained enemies currently riding alongside his brother to this very city. Justice and truth were supposed to be eternal, but like all things in this desert, things rot if left out under that sun.

_Tamina's Point of View:_

If she hadn't been born into royalty and raised to act like it;

She would have been slamming her head against the fountain and screaming like a child.

If she hadn't been a woman who an entire society of holy people looked upon as an icon;

She would have been cursing the gods with profane language that would shock even her groom to be.

Granted, he wouldn't have acted shocked; really. He would have raised his eyebrows and then released a laugh that trembled from deep in his belly and out his mouth with the sort of projection that one could imagine, but probably never heard realistically before. It wasn't the laugh of a lion in the slightest.

A deep frown plastered itself on a youthful visage, her legs sinking to allow her rest against the fountain they'd had this conversation at. She was used to people bowing to her, Tamina had expected the prince to immediately grovel when he realized he'd upset her. Despite the woman's upbringing, and wisdom far beyond her years, this didn't change the innate concept that she was young. And the young expected rules to be bent in their name. And she was spoiled, that didn't help either.

Regardless, she was curious. Infuriated, frustrated, lost, helpless-to-figure-out-her-situation, but incredibly curious. A maddening conversation that led her to the gardens, quelling the secret hope that Dastan might have found his way here as well. It had been thirty hours since they'd spoken, his brothers now gone for a week and a half. They were meant to return today. Placing a fist on her forehead, holding her head and resting it on the fountain her shoulders shrank down. Thoughtfully, her other hand moved to her breast removing the sand holder for the first time that she could remember in a long time. Placing it in her left hand, her attention followed before screwing up her face. As a guardian, it was her duty- her _destiny _to protect the dagger and this sand. And it told her that something had been forgotten, something important. Eventually, the expression began to hurt her head and her ego. Laying down the opened necklace to the left of her folded legs she fell into a more amicable silence with herself, staring at the water.

These were the times she felt calmest. There was no water in the desert, really, save for the rainstorms which came so rarely even in her thriving city, that there was a certain wonder to the surface of the fountains liquid for her. Such rejuvenation didn't last as long as she would like, the sound to her left would have been enough to give any god-fearing person a near heart attack.

The hiss of a snake was a warning. If you heard it behind the brush, you gave that space a ten foot radius. If you heard it while bending down to get something that rolled behind the table in your home, you stood on your counter with watchful eyes and waited for your husband to get home. But if you heard the hushed sound of the amphibious predator alarmingly close to your left hand, you froze; and darted the moment it let its haunting gold eyes fall away from you.

But this one did not have the familiar gold eyes, instead it had scales black as night, explaining why she hadn't seen it out of the corner of her eye, and red eyes that spoke of nothing but poison. She'd never seen a snake in the palace, but this one skated about as if it owned the place. Appearing to be apathetically scouting the area it's cold body surprisingly heavy; dead weight.

Ask the horrified princess why she understood the feel of the snake, and she might hysterically point out that it was currently gliding over her still folded legs. A hundred images of the thing suddenly snapping and turning on her seemed incredibly plausible, and likely given a natural snake's temperament. But it never did.

Sliding over her lap she'd shot up as soon as it had crossed, her feet already having fled the sacred gardens and continuing onto her chambers. Her hand never dared to let go of the chain even in the midst of a pounding heart it stayed entwined in her fist. But what the Princess was unfamiliar with was that chains often have no way of supporting their charms once the necklace had opened. And upon reaching her room and shutting the door with a dose of relief soothing the poison of fear in her veins, the moment she recognized the holder of the sand having disappeared from the dainty necklace.

Upon her return she searched frantically in the dark, her hands running over the ground and the stones. The fear of the serpentine intruder having vanished in the new panic of having lost the most important part of the necklace. Widening her eyes as if she could suddenly evolve into a higher species that would be able to see through the unlit night, the woman walked back to her room, shaken and defeated. Both the snake and the pendent were gone; though not far off.

Comfortable in the darkest chambers that a city such as Alamut had to offer, the same golden city home to a now thoroughly alarmed deity lived, a man lay uncharacteristically sprawled on the bed that seemed almost too short to contain such a height. His body cloaked in midnight stained cloths, his armor laying at the side, and an immense serpent coiled fondly on his chest. It whispered to him, this man with the ruined face, and the bored eyes that stared at the ceiling. But he listened to everything it said about what it saw in this new world; everything about Alamut and its people, and of course what it had swallowed upon meeting a strangely memorable woman.

The leader of the Hassansins found his fingers curling around the tiny pendent, fierce icy stare observing each grain of sand held inside the scarlet glass. He trusted that his new employer would be so kind as to introduce him eventually to this famed flower meant to marry the King's brother. Hands closing further around the vial until it disappeared into his hand he let his fist rest at his side, the snake falling smoothly off his body.

Perhaps he would return it to her then; for a price.

**Author's note;**

**I PROMISE they will meet in the next chapter. I mean, this one was so long already and it's been a while since I've updated and you know, you know. Whine whine bitch moan blah blah blah. Please review, it does nothing but encourage me, I'd be thrilled to read your stories, and whichever ones you feel like recommending! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed/read so far. xo**


	6. Communicated Vengeance

**Author's Note: Sorry for another OC. Let's face it, Prince of Persia doesn't get deeply enough into any of the characters to delve deeply enough into the Hassansin's. She will not play a significant role to the main characters, but she's necessary; I promise. Other than that, I'd like to thank all you blessed creatures who reviewed my story. I REALLY appreciate your kind words and dedication to my story, it means very much to any aspiring author that people like their work and you are a bunch of awesome cheerleaders [with way cooler cheers/outfits than the normal kind that cheer at various sporting endeavors] **

**Oh, and if you're confused why the Hassansins are in Alamut, all is explained in this chapter. But I'll try to squeeze the meeting between Tamina and Snakey…Well, the leader of the Hassansins probably tomorrow, I just wanted to give a nice little explanation of what really got the Hassansins involved, sorry for making you all wait so long for the real story. Next chapter, I swear on my mother's future grave.**

_Tus's Point of View:_

He found himself staring at the epitome of a foreigner. Absent, was the dark tresses and thick eyelashes and caramel skin. Instead he faced hair gold as desert sand, eyes blue and framed by barley seen lashes with skin pale but tinted pink by the sun. Ironically, Tus found this creature to match the desert even better than it's natives, with her strange ethereal face. With white clothing strung with only the occasionally revealed scarlet under layer, she was dough next to a perfectly browned loaf of bread.

But this wasn't what drew his attention first.

The sound of protest was small at first, and off to his front right as the noble man set with a furrowed brow. The cry turned into something more desperate, quickly.

"Please, please…no! give what was promised to me, I want what was promised!"

The words were hysterical, and he would have found raw feeling obnoxious in his streets especially with no cause he could see with his own hues, but the sudden movement in his peripheral vision was enough to pique any curiosity one could feel in a heart heavy with sorrow.

The man who she'd been speaking to caught the woman mid-step in which was sure to be a fast sprint. In the instant that her arm was snagged by the man Tus could only assume to be a lover or master, she'd turned with the spirit of a fighter and struck him hard. It was not the slap a woman would dare offer to a man, with an open hand to leave a stinging humiliation on his face. It was the trained hand that would break bone, and there was no way possible for it to be stopped.

Surely enough, the crunch was heard over half the people, some of which had stopped to watch out of that sheer second of analyzing a strange sight. They'd seen shopkeepers cut off arms in the market, they'd seen people brawl, men had died for petty arguments and big accidents. However, a force like that was not acquired by most trained men; never mind a woman.

The man who had been on the offensive toward the pale flower soon found himself clutching his face. But the stagger only lasted in a brief second, and the steel hand never released her arm. She cried out when the force of her own fist was reflected on the captured appendage he still held in his hand. In retaliation, he went to grab her close, palm open as if he would crack it over her face and knock her to the ground. His height trumped hers to such a degree that the motion of her turning her head up to watch the attack was watched even by time, which seemed to slow as the oppressive palm moved down his mighty arms flexing with purpose.

Her dainty legs were concealed beneath the clothing of them time, but she ducked, and he had no choice to release her arm when he stumbled to the ground as her foot drove hard into his knee. The movements she maintained spoke of nothing but practice, the weak points on his body revealed to her eyes and made possible to break bones. Knowledge that shouldn't belong to someone who had no doubt been raised as a slave. The force of the hand on her arm popped her shoulder, no doubt dislocating it; but she cried with as much passion as before, moving to run now that he'd released her.

To the surprise of all that watched she had not run to safety but to take the club that the nearest shop cart had set next to the entrepreneur as a token for all those that stole.

Tus had risen without realizing what he'd done his steps leading at him in a slow pace toward the tiny creature that now towered over a broken man half broken herself. There was more emotion in her movements than there would have been in the display of her sobbing on the ground, and raising the weapon over her head, she meant to drive it down into the stranger at her feet; captivating an audience who couldn't know how to respond. It took the King a moment to realize that they were afraid, this creature had proven to be fearful. The first blow that landed caused a sickening crunch of flesh against an inanimate object that pierced it.

Over and over she struck, each hit in time with the steps of the king that caused a new profound silence that never fully reached the stranger. From behind her, Tus grabbed hold of the weapon. She'd reared on him with eyes that sparked a flame of recognition. He had seen someone with optics that color before, though he couldn't enlist where. At first, the look she gave him made him sure she would round on him like a rabid dog, but instead the look drained from her face as fast as the blood, making her even fairer than before to the point where even her full pink lips lost some of the sun-kissed color.

"As your King I demand you cease, woman."

Mighty words for a man who was looking at her with numbed awe and perhaps a hint of caution. Her hand had halted entirely, the weapon dropping as her strange eyes widened, the pigment in them so light they nearly looked silver in direct light.

"You…You're Prince, prince Tus."

"King."

He corrected her firmly. The word sour on his lips before it ever left them. She couldn't notice, however, for she'd promptly thrown herself on the ground along with all of those that had kneeled the moment the King had entered the brawl between the foreign woman and strange man. The man in question lie eerily still on the ground, questioning if he still had life in him, Tus's eyes flickered over for a brief second, but she would not let his attention be drawn away so easily. Kissing the hem of his robes, the woman had started to sob.

"My people, they still follow your line with such dedication and devotion. They know the royal house has suffered, and have not left you from their trances or offerings. Oh what an honor, I am honored great King to even stand on your feet, to live because you permitted us instead to live instead of the death we would have accepted it had it been your wish."

Bemused, and thoughts of insanity for the creature before him flitted around his head. And yet the deep pull on his heart when he looked at her as a woman forced him to wave away the kneeled and silence denizens around them. Leaning down to one knee he brought her up to his height standing, putting his cloak over her.

"You there."

He addressed the shop keeper who was trying very hard to look like he wasn't listening; though he brightened upon being addressed by the King and then being given back the slightly bloodied club.

"Bring that injured…man, to a healer, tell them the king sent you. Ensure you come by the palace and I will have you paid for your troubles."

Not staying for the humble bowing and gracious thanks meant to make an impression on him, Tus brought the more pressing matters to action first. He brought her in the castle, despite the stares of his servants, and the stare of one of his wives at the strange female he'd brought in, and led her to the medic's quarters.

Looking at her now, past the abnormalities, she really was a wreck. Blinded before by the exotic beauty she held beneath her skin he saw hair that had been brushed recently of heavy matting. Her arm was twisted and her face drawn because of it, but beyond that there was a strange dull look in her eyes as if she wasn't fully attached to her reality to emphasize that fact, her pupils were large and frighteningly obvious in such strangely colored hues.

Giving her a strong wine mixed with a tonic to numb some of the pain and the jitters that made her hands shake violently in his presence he waited til she could relax in the chair her breath occasionally catching in her throat for the pain that no doubt set half her body on fire.

The talk was probably in the top ten strangest conversations of his life, and probably the only one he'd ever had with a woman born into slavery. Probing her questions that came easier with each glass of wine. She was not yet twenty, she didn't know where she was from, she didn't have a name she could remember, she'd been in the dark for more years than she could count, she had not seen a woman for a very long time. So many spaces left blank in her memory, and yet she knew who he was; and kept saying 'My people' despite the fact that they were the ones who had turned her into what she was today.

Nearly drunk in her sway, the woman had gotten up and moved on her knees toward his chair, large eyes imploring.

"We still serve you, even if your family no longer needs us."

Perhaps it was the grief of his father that shot it from his memory, or the afternoon sun that made him hot with forgetfulness, or perhaps this vicious creature he couldn't tell if he was attracted to or afraid of, but Tus finally allowed what she'd been saying to sink in.

"You…were raised by the Hassansins."

The smile that spread over a paper thin face strained him to look at but it was the convincing tool in a moving story. A king was raised in the belief his people would follow him, and when demonstrated with such obvious loyalty he tended to believe the words that tumbled out of the mouth from what appeared to be a piece of the sun having fallen into Persia.

This is what also convinced him that the Hassanins were a valuable tool in times of trouble.

And that disbanding them had not decreased their loyalty to the Persian Empire.

Lastly, and most importantly; she could lead them there.

And so the King went; bringing Garsiv as the leader of one of the strongest parts of his army, and four other guards.

The whole time they rode, he watched the woman, looking for some of the story she'd surely left out in her original telling. But he would not find it before reaching the Den, before meeting the final piece of the puzzle that would ensure that in desperation for vengeance Tus would indeed do anything.

Swept up by the grandeur and mystique enlisted before him in this windowless fortress Tus could see why his father ordered men who dedicated their lives to the Empire were meant to rot away. They were the most frightening warriors he could have seen. The nameless female stood behind him, observing it all with weary eyes. Despite her pleas of loyalty to both him, and the place which he now stood, she was not willing to go back here that much was clear. It all was quite wrong, but the green king hoped that it would somehow make things right.

The music around him was upbeat, but filtered into his system like it was spinning down his ears, and into his head making his thoughts swirl. The darkness put him on his guard and put him at ease all at once. Passing by the open center he was led to a room where the music concentrated, where there were a myriad of hassansins passing by, looking at him with the same pair of hallowed eyes. He was led by a man with the same empty eyes, the familiarity in it reflected by the woman who trailed behind him like a shadow. A guard on either side, and yet he'd never felt so completely vulnerable. The weapons they had were fierce, and their fortress spoke and whispered of an ancient power; these were the men who could track down a man they had little clue of.

For a moment, they had been told to wait, taken out of the music and into silence. It appeared to be some sort of study if he had to label it as anything. But there were vials, and devices that curved glass and jewels where thin streams of smoke emitted, incense was being burned at a mass amount heady and confusing, not to mention there was the largest snake he'd ever seen. At first, he'd assumed it was fake, after all, it must have been twenty feet long, curled on an entire row of what appeared to be an intricately carved, black marble counter along the west wall of the room. But when it raised its lazy head in a hiss, Tus and the group behind him just stared in distracted awe at the creature, save for the unnamed blonde who stared ahead at the doorway where a much more prominent predator just entered. Her lowering to a bow brought the attention of the king who laid his eyes on who he would later know as the downfall of much in his current life.

His clothes were well suited for nighttime travel, and his pale skin attested to it. Dimly questioning in his mind whether he was related to the woman beside him was normal given the fair skin and eyes that graced both of him. Though his were much too gaunt to be anything but haunting; nothing like the paper skinned being behind him. This was surprisingly not the major traits that stuck out in the stranger's visage. Everything radiated power, like he too was nothing more than a coiled snake, the apathetic expression so profound it nearly bordered on indifferent melancholy but it wasn't what caught one's eye. The competition rested between what looked like a fierce burn mark covering nearly half of the man's face, and the eyes bright enough that Tus questioned whether they were emitting their own source of light somehow. The voice was soft and low, listless and quite unsurprised,

"You are here earlier than I expected…"

The man greated, his head tilted slightly as if it was too great of a bother even to hold it up straight; but in reality made him only seem more imposing , making it clear he was looking down at the King before him.

"Evening Hassansin, I hope we're not disturbing you."

Upon their arrival he was met with a mixture of emotions that basically represented all the feelings he himself was filled with on the prospect of hiring these cold blooded assassins. But it was Dastan's that was beyond vicious. First, he'd stuttered like he'd seen a ghost, when interrupted during his morning meal. Next he promptly attacked the man. What a first impression.

The leader of the Hassansins didn't seem to mind, in fact, he hadn't shown to mind or accept or dislike anything from what Tus had seen during their journey. It wasn't customary for the hired men to follow the King's group back to the palace, but it made the most sense given that time was important and not quite on their side. That, and the snake man did not sleep, nor eat from what Tus could tell. When he walked behind him, Tus felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle enough to drive any man mad with looking over his shoulder.

Once Dastan had been restrained and later had a 'talk' with the his mighty brother on the importance of keeping their line pure no matter what and that this line against vengeance would only bring them down, Tus finally demanded the strong adversary against the group. Instead of answering however, the hot head roared out of built up frustration some incomprehensible babble about some version of a profane dagger cursing. Followed by slamming of the door.


End file.
